


Roommate Confusions (In Which Spock Tries To Figure Out If Jim Is With His Roommate Bones And Fails Miserably)

by AlyssiaInWonderland



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jim is an idiot, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Spock is a darling, Spock uses his family name to help people, Starfleet Academy, Uhura is exasperated, academy au, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:43:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/AlyssiaInWonderland
Summary: Spock has a hopeless crush on Jim, but thinks Jim and his roommate Bones are a couple, and so (to fill the tumblr promt/post) he hides his lyre in Bones' bed to see if it is noticed.Circumstances conspire to make Spock believe that his affection is not returned - will they manage to figure it out?Ie. Spock tries to be logical about figuring out if Jim is flirting with him and/or single, Uhura is the only sensible one among them, Bones' life gets complicated, and it all turns out alright eventually.





	Roommate Confusions (In Which Spock Tries To Figure Out If Jim Is With His Roommate Bones And Fails Miserably)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluffmaster2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmaster2000/gifts).



Spock waited patiently in the hall for his partner in his second year project, friend, and hopeless crush. Jim Kirk hadn’t initially come across as the sort of person whose company Spock would enjoy; he was unmistakeably flirtatious, had many issues with accepting authority, and was so inherently emotional that sometimes Spock didn’t know how he could function at all. Yet, as they worked together, he found himself utterly and inevitably fascinated. Jim was not unintelligent – in fact, he seemed to be able to make leaps of intuition equal only to Spock’s own intricate weaves of knowledge. Despite approaching every issue they encountered from very different perspectives, when it came down to it their methods were both complimentary and converging in results.

 

Jim was often late. It was simply a fact of his being, along with his sunny charisma, and the casual yet careful touches he gave to Spock without seeming aware of how great an effect his touch wrought. Spock himself was punctual almost to a fault. Frequently, earlier on in their acquaintance, he would be frustrated or angered by his project-partner’s tardiness, and his typically dishevelled appearance. Now, he found that he did not mind. Jim was always honest, in his own way, and would always stay late to make up for the time lost to waiting. When he was present, he was engaged in their discussions, engrossed even, and if Jim was able to reach even half of the hyper-focus that he often encountered in their own study sessions, he could understand the consistent lateness.

 

There were a series of thuds and bangs from behind the door, and Spock straightened, shaking himself out of his pensive reverie.  
  
“Spock! Sorry about that, I had to find something under my bed.” Jim grinned sheepishly up at Spock, leaning on the doorframe and letting the door swing inward invitingly. His blonde-brown hair was spiking every-which-way, and he ran a hand through it self-consciously. Spock was acutely aware of the sweat and specks of dust patching across Jim’s body – he was wearing regulation black tracksuit trousers with an oversized hoodie with the arms pushed up to his elbows, and where he leaned on the door the hoodie rode up, revealing a distinct lack of undershirt. He took a deep breath, realising quickly that it had been a mistake as he could smell Jim now, the scent of his citrus shampoo and his sweat combining in a way that made lewd images fly into his head. He grappled with his Vulcan controls and suppressed his blush and run-away mind, releasing the breath as an exaggerated, mocking sigh.  
  
“Under your bed. I see.” He commented, and if he could feel pride at his dry and unimpressed tone, he would have.  
  
“Yep!” Jim shut the door after Spock, hurrying across to make his bed look more presentable.

 

Spock watched Jim wrestle with the tangled sheets impassively.  
  
“Sorry about the mess, I turned the place upside down looking for it.” Jim finished with the bed by drawing the duvet over the tangle instead of fully fixing it, and Spock couldn’t conceal his look of disapproval.

“I know, I’ll sort it later, but I forgot we had this study session so soon. When you’re gone I promise I’ll tidy.” Jim grinned, and Spock couldn’t help but return the expression with a slight twitch of his lips, which was all Jim ever needed.  
  
“The painting on the wall is askew.” Spock pointed out, reaching forward over Jim’s shoulder to straighten it. Jim blinked up at him and their close proximity, before Spock pulled himself back at the sound of the shower turning on. He flicked a glance to the shared bathroom, and of course Jim noticed immediately.  
  
“Yeah, Bones stole the shower before I could, the bastard!” Jim spoke the insult without any real heat and a great deal of affection. Spock looked away uncomfortably, before he was ushered into one of the chairs by Jim’s desk. “Anyway, here’s how I’ve got on with fixing the code for the temperature aspect of the simulation.”  
  
Jim tapped his PADD, bringing up a projection of his code for Spock to inspect. His eyes were already alight with the excitement and slight hyper-focus that made him both an asset and a liability. Spock was uncertain, but he suspected Jim of having ADHD. He had never brought it up himself, as it would have been both unnecessary and irrelevant (and, of course, as Nyota explained to him, also rather rude). Spock shook off his musings, and focussed in on the code.  
  
“I believe your calculations are correct; however I do think that adding an additional variable to allow for conversions between differing units of temperature would be wise – this simulation is designed to be used by multiple countries and we cannot assume that Kelvin is standard. It would, however, be simple to effect.” Spock pulled out his own PADD and laid it on the table, ready to bring out his own work.  
  
“Of course, that makes total sense! I have to admit I can be a bit of an ‘if it works then fuck it’ kind of person when it comes to initial draft coding.” Jim grinned, not directing the expression at anyone has his hands flew across the keyboard, already adding the suggestion to his code. “What have you been up to, genius?”  
  
“Jim,” Spock chided, attempting to hide his pleasure at the illogical moniker. “I am not a genius; I have an emi-“ his protest was interrupted by the door of the bathroom opening. He had been so engrossed in their conversation that he hadn’t noticed the shower turning off, which was most disturbing.  
  
Jim looked up instinctively to the source of the noise, and this time his blinding grin was definitely directed full-blast at his roommate. The expression was part amusement and part good-natured teasing, and when Spock turned around he immediately understood why.   
  
“Dammit, Jim!” McCoy spluttered, grabbing for a towel to wrap around his waist. “You could have told me Spock was visiting!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Bones, I thought you would hear us talking!” Jim couldn’t conceal his laughter, and McCoy moved further into the room to grab the clothes laid out on his bed.  
  
“Well, the shower is loud!” McCoy glared at Jim, attempting to be severe, but then grinned. “Maybe speak a bit louder next time, and I won’t scar Spock for life. Sorry, buddy!” He retreated back into the bathroom, giving Spock a brief nod as he did so.  
  
“Sorry about that, Spock.” Jim turned back to the code, his laughter still coming out in occasional snorts. “I can’t believe he didn’t hear us!”  
  
Spock was silent for a moment, attempting to process the interaction. His brain had frozen on one particular point, and he concluded that he would be unable to concentrate until he investigated further.  
  
“Does McCoy frequently wander around the room entirely naked?” Spock kept the emotions rising rebelliously inside him clamped down firmly.  
  
“Oh, he likes to ‘air dry’.” Jim put the words in air-quotes, and rolled his eyes at Spock as if he might understand the statement. “I think he just likes strutting his stuff for me, to be honest. Shame he’s not my type.” Jim winked at Spock, and he wondered slightly deliriously if he had imagined the slight emphasis on the ‘ _he’s_ not my type’ part of the sentence.  
  
“I-“ Spock began, unable to form a full sentence in the wake of what could possibly have been flirting. Jim’s wink had somehow made him feel as if he had abruptly stepped into zero gravity, his heart leaping in a little thrill of pleasure that was involuntary and disconcerting. Before he could begin to hope that Jim and his roommate were indeed simply platonic, the door to the shower opened again.  
  
“I heard that, you know.” McCoy accused, good naturedly. He ignored his own bed in favour of sitting on Jim’s just in reach of his shoulders. “Maybe I should try and win you over.” He leaned in and began to massage Jim’s shoulders, and Jim groaned in pleasure. His head leaned back so it was touching McCoy’s chest, and his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting to let out the sound.

Spock found his brain once again barely able to process the scene before him. So much touch and physical contact, McCoy’s fingers brushing Jim’s bare skin and him relaxing into it, moaning indecently while dishevelled. It was only his Vulcan controls that allowed him to avoid the embarrassment of being both turned on and utterly devastated.  
  
“Alright, Bones, you got me. You can be my type too.” Jim mumbled, a soft smile gracing his features.  
  
“Damn right I can, kiddo. I’m _everyone’s_ type.” McCoy grinned, gently releasing Jim and ruffling his hair. “Except apparently Jocelyn.” He admitted, his gaze sticking for a moment on his bed before moving back to the two men before him. “But Jim’s good at building people back up, you know, Spock.” McCoy smiled, nothing malicious in his words or tone, but Spock could only nod tightly back.  
  
“Indeed, Cadet Kirk has many admirable qualities.” Spock could feel the humiliation of his hopeless crush rise to his cheeks, staining them a light green, and he stood abruptly, taking his PADD and backing away from the scene. “I apologise, I forgot that I have a meeting to attend. Elsewhere.” Spock’s voice came out somewhat choked to his ears, and he felt those same ears burn green as he retreated, allowing himself to walk far more briskly than he otherwise might as he sped away from the room, and the distinctly _together_ impression that Jim and his roommate gave.

 

* * *

 

 

Nyota knocked on the door to Leonard and Jim’s room, her face stormy. Jim opened the door, and instantly backed away.  
  
“Bones, Uhura’s here and she’s _pissed_ , save me!” He called, turning a slightly grin to her, which she did not return. “Wait, you are actually angry?” Jim blinked, wondering what he could have possibly done to annoy her. They had built up what he felt was a good rapport, united over their love for languages and because Jim always wanted to know more about Spock, who lived in the room next door to Nyota, and was perhaps his closest friend.  
  
Nyota stepped into the room, and took turns glaring at McCoy and Jim. “What did you two idiots do to Spock?”  
  
“What?!” McCoy blinked, and Jim raised an eyebrow – a habit he has unconsciously picked up from the man in question.  
  
“He’s holed himself up, meditating outside of his normal routine, and he was practically sprinting when I saw him enter his room! His last meeting was here with you two, so, what did you two _do_?!”

“Nothing, Nyota, I promise!” Jim exclaimed. “He just went green and ran away after Bones turned up.”  
  
“I think he might have been freaked out by seeing me naked, actually.” McCoy commented, thoughtfully. “But then, he seemed fine until I started trying to play wing-man.”  
  
“Wing-man? _Naked?!_ ” Nyota wasn’t sure which of the sentences seemed more potentially horrifying. “What on earth did you two _do_?!” she paused, heaving a sigh and sprawling dramatically over McCoy’s bed, covered as it was in immaculate pink bedsheets and numerous stuffed toys, knitted items and cushions sent to him by Joanna.  
  
“Well, the first part was just that Bones didn’t realise Spock was here so he just stepped out of the shower naked as usual.” Jim began, and Uhura held up a hand.  
  
“Leonard, you hang out in here _naked_?!” She leapt off the bed. “I was sitting on that bed!”  
  
“Calm down, Uhura, I don’t use the bed for anything but fully clothed holo sessions with my daughter! You don’t seriously think I sleep with all those pillows and toys?”  
  
“Oh thank god.” Uhura sat back down, albeit cautiously. “Why keep them if you hate them?”  
  
“Joanna sends them to me. I like to let her see that I still have them.” McCoy’s face softened into pure, gentle love as he mentioned his daughter. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, it’s good for my back.”  
  
“Right. Okay, so far so simple. I wouldn’t think Spock would be phased by nudity, that would be illogical. Continue.”  
  
“So, I gave Jim a shoulder massage, because he makes seriously indecent noises when I do, and talked about how Jim helped build me up after Jocelyn left. You know, stuff that would make Spock notice how Jim’s kind and vaguely attractive.” McCoy grinned at Jim’s insulted expression.  
  
“Hey, I’m _very_ attractive, thank you very much, Bones!”  
  
“Alright, kiddo, whatever you say.” He glanced at Uhura, whose expression was dawning into understanding. “What is it?”  
  
“Do you two act like this all the time?”  
  
“Sure, why?” Jim asked, frowning.  
  
“Well…I’m pretty sure Spock thinks you two are together. It would make sense.”  
  
“God, no!” McCoy yelled.  
  
“Yes, exactly, no way!” Jim yelled, then turned to McCoy. “Hey, you sounded really disgusted by that. Rude!”  
  
“Well, so did you!”  
  
“Boys!” Nyota finally raised her voice, and the pair immediately shut up and listened to her. “You two were, let’s see…McCoy was openly alright with being naked around you, you’re happy to touch each other casually, McCoy talked about how awesome you are, Jim, and the pair of you literally interact by either flirting, arguing, or both at the same time. Honestly, I don’t blame Spock for thinking you’re together! You’re both hopeless!”  
  
“Crap.” Jim said, looking a little stunned. “You…you might be right.”  
  
“Might?” Nyota scoffed. “Of course I’m right. Luckily for you, I have a plan. If I tell him that you’re definitely not together, he’ll try and investigate, find himself some proof. It should work just fine. He trusts me, and he trusts the results of his experiments.”  
  
“Thanks, Nyota.”  
  
“You’re welcome! You’re both hopeless. Actually, even Spock is hopeless. Frankly, I’m just glad I’ve got Gaila, at least she doesn’t do this whole weird mating-dance of guesswork and being indirect. She just asked if I wanted to have sex with her, and here I am.” Nyota smiled, sharp and happy.  
  
“Alright, no need to rub it in!” McCoy grumbled, good naturedly, and Nyota slid off the bed, carefully remaking it and heading out.  
  
“And try not to look like you’re flirting all the time.” She added, before departing.

 

* * *

 

“What makes you so certain that this comment is relevant to me, Nyota? I appreciate your concern, but it is not an issue I wish to concern myself with.”  
  
“Spock, I’m telling you. As a friend. Jim and Leonard are just friends, nothing more. I’m convinced of it! And I think the comment is relevant because you made an incorrect assumption, and it’s clearly affecting you.”  
  
“I am not experiencing any emotional-“  
  
“Spock!” Nyota interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “I don’t care what emotions you do or do not decide to claim. I’m just telling you what I think. Because, I think you need to hear it.”  
  
“I…” Spock paused, the tips of his ears flushing a light green. “Thank you, Nyota.” He looked away.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Nyota smiled at him, letting her expression and mild proximity to him express her affection for her friend.  
  
“I suppose it would do no harm to investigate the matter further. I will have to continue working with him in any case.”  
  
“That’s the spirit!” She moved to the door. “I have my date with Gaila now, though. I’ll see you later in the week, Spock!”  
  
“Enjoy your date, Nyota.” Spock allowed himself a small smile, which was returned in kind by his friend.   
  
He did not frown, but his expression did become a little furrowed as he considered his options. In order to test the platonic nature of Jim’s relationship with McCoy, there were many variables to take into account. This included the potential difference in behaviours when accompanied by others to in private, and the relative romantic overtones in the relationship. Spock often found that the levels of expression of romantic intimacy varied greatly from couple to couple, even among humans. Jim, being a somewhat tactile being, further complicated the issue. This, he concluded, decided that observation would not be an effective method.  
  
Perhaps something environmental would work. His mind flew to the somewhat absurdly neat yet overcrowded bed that McCoy for some reason favoured. It seemed most impractical, but humans were illogical. If he were to hide something amongst the pillows, something easily found and valuable, but also easy to have lost there, it would be simple to then see whether McCoy used his own bed or Jim’s, by whether he discovered the item. Satisfied with this plan, he decided that he could take his lyre with him at their next meeting. It would not be unusual – he had previously come to a study session with Jim straight from practising, and so the action would not be without precedent. Decided upon a course of action, he felt some of the tension in him fade away.  
  
Nyota had been so adamant, so convinced that they were not together. Perhaps Jim had been flirting after all. He tried to ignore the illogical butterflies that sprang to life at that thought.

 

* * *

 

Once more, Spock found himself waiting outside Jim’s door. His habit of turning up at least five minutes early for any given meeting, had given way in Jim’s case to a meagre two minutes, in order to minimise time wasted. To his surprise, Jim opened the door precisely on the hour.   
  
“Good morning.” Spock said, a little stiffly. He held his PADD in one hand and the lyre and some sheet music in the other, and he clutched the items tightly, grateful for their grounding influence.

“Hi, Spock.” Jim was unusually quiet. “Did you, uh, manage to get to that meeting?”  
  
“Indeed.” Spock was not one to move hesitantly, but he had to actively put in effort to smooth out his motions as he entered Jim’s room. “I apologise for the interruption to our project.”  
  
Spock could feel it, and so could Jim, from his worried expression. Something between them, that surprising and fragile companionship, had been disturbed. Due to Spock’s actions, and his illogical crush, their friendship had been thrown off balance. Spock found that this state of affairs was unacceptable. He concentrated hard, relaxing his posture just a touch, and allowing his micro-expressions to reappear.  
  
“I have completed the calculations that will need to be applied in order to take into account the additional kinetic energy in the core due to internal collisions, so that we can incorporate these into our Monte Carlo simulation.” He offered the words up to Jim, attempting to coax out that bright interest that so fascinated him.  
  
“That’s…awesome, actually. I ever tell you you’re a genius?” Jim smiled, the expression gradually seeping into his eyes as Spock allowed his lips to twitch upwards just a little in return.  
  
“Frequently.” Spock answered, the awkwardness slowly fading in the wake of Jim’s smile. “Though your statement is also factually incorrect, I find myself gratified that you perceive me to be so. It is most satisfying to know that our interactions during this endeavour have not made you agree with Cadet Stiles.”  
  
“I’m still happy I punched that idiot for being so prejudiced as to think you’d be a spy or traitor.” Jim recalled their first true bonding moment, one that had cemented their friendship firmly. He had ended up in the Academy’s brig for two weeks, but it had been worth it to see the combination of disapproval and quiet, happy surprise on Spock’s face at being defended.  
  
“I do still disapprove of your use of physical violence.” Spock stated, but his treacherous face twitched his lips into the slight quirk he used when he was about to attempt humour via shock value. “But he was, as you put it, quite a ‘little shit’.”  
  
Jim let out a startled, slightly choked laugh at that. His eyes were bright with interest and amusement, and Spock had to clamp down on his reaction at being able to induce such a response.   
  
“For someone who claims to not have a sense of humour, you sure seem to make me laugh a lot.”  
  
“Your dubious reactions to my factual statements are hardly my fault, Jim.” Spock held himself proud and serene, but when his eyes met Jim’s they once again met with a shared mirth.  
  
Jim placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder briefly, rolling his eyes, before turning away and pulling out a spare chair for him. Spock followed, bringing out his PADD. As they worked on the addition of the newly developed equations to the simulation, Spock noted that Jim seemed at ease with him once more. Slightly louder than necessary when he experienced excitement, the light casual touches returning along with his lingering grins when they made a small breakthrough or simply shared an irrelevant anecdote or joke. Spock relaxed into the companionship, finding that he was already accustomed to the usual tone of their interactions. And if he had to be careful not to lean into the light contact, that was his problem, and his alone.  
  
Spock took his chance with the lyre when Jim dashed to the bathroom as the code was compiling. He stood, and slid his lyre carefully under several pillows on McCoy’s bed. He was about to turn away when he spotted a small, old-fashioned picture frame on the bedside table. It was an image of a young girl, perhaps six or seven Terran years old, holding on to McCoy’s hand. A woman, standing next to them, had been mostly cut from the frame. Jocelyn, Spock assumed. Despite his uneasy and instinctive distrust of the doctor, he found himself experiencing a surprising degree of empathy. He did not jump when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but he did turn, finding himself face to face with Jim.  
  
“I did not realise that Dr. McCoy had a daughter.”  
  
“She’s called Joanna.” Jim said, his expression soft and incredibly fond. “She’s pretty great, actually, all things considered. Nothing like Jocelyn. She makes all this stuff for Bones, it’s why he keeps it around.” He gestured to the piles of cushions and toys, and Spock nodded in understanding.  
  
“They hold emotional significance for him.” He said, quietly. “I find myself glad that he can maintain communication with his daughter.”  
  
Jim blinked at him, a smile slowly growing on his face. His expression was not dissimilar to how he looked when Spock had just solved a particularly troublesome calculation, which was most disconcerting given the emotional context of their conversation.  
  
“Yeah. She means the world to him, Spock. It’s…kind of amazing to see.” Jim paused, and Spock wondered at the flash of hurt that passed across his features before he continued. “I sort of hate Jocelyn for what she’s putting Bones through. She wants to get full custody of Joanna because Bones is going into space, and-“ He broke off, stepping back and shaking his head, as if to clear it of his troubled thoughts. “Look at me, going on about this. I’m sorry, we should get back to our project.”  
  
“There is no need to apologise, Jim.” Spock answered, moving back to the shared table. “You are simply worried for your roommate, which is entirely understandable. You are an uncommonly empathic human, I believe.” While Spock still felt a degree of animosity to the Doctor – not that he would admit to such illogic to anyone save his internal self – he found that he could not begrudge McCoy for Jim’s concern and kindness. It seemed that the man had already experienced a great deal of sorrow in his life. It would be both irrational and selfish to resent him for it, or indeed for his own helpless crush on Jim.  
  
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, coming from a Vulcan!” Jim joked, but he looked unusually flushed, uncomfortable under the genuine praise that he so happily doled out to others.  
  
“It was not intended to insult.” Spock answered, his tone aloof but his expression gentle.

Jim looked at him, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then his PADD chirped out an alarm.  
  
“Dammit!” Jim exclaimed, picking up his bag and shoving materials into it hastily. “I’m sorry, Spock, but I have to get to my command track monthly test. We can meet up at 1400hrs next week, in the labs, to test out the code?”  
  
“That would be satisfactory.” Spock nodded, attempting to keep the amusement he felt at Jim’s well-meaning haste out of his voice. “I shall allow you to continue your packing alone.”

Spock picked up his PADD and music, and exited the room. The distraction of Jim’s upcoming test had proven a most useful occurrence – Jim would certainly have not noticed the lack of lyre in his hands as he exited the room.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the week, Spock found himself both desiring to still feel animosity towards the Doctor, and yet incapable of doing so. The lyre had not yet been returned, and as the seven-day mark approached, he strongly suspected that McCoy and Jim were, indeed, a couple. He was meditating on the issue both in the morning and the evening. He was, he knew, illogical in doing so. If McCoy and Jim were indeed a couple, as all the evidence suggested, then it would simply be unhealthy to dwell on the desperate love he felt for Jim, or the compassion he felt for McCoy. And yet, he found a measure of peace in doing so. If his own emotions were to be disregarded, there was a certain peace in knowing that Jim and McCoy were able to find what they needed in each other.

Spock was, by nature, highly empathic. This was, undoubtedly, impacted by his telepathy, and by the Vulcan teachings ingrained into the core of his being. The concept of controlling one’s emotions did not preclude having any; in fact, it was vaunted as wise to take those emotions and process them logically, detached and yet learning from them. By separating from emotion, it allowed Vulcans to see past the inherent bias of the hormonal biology responsible for feelings, to further practise the principle of IDIC uninhibited by the fetters of basal instinct. It was, perhaps, the easiest path towards total altruism, or total pragmatism. Spock knew that most would be somewhat surprised by such a combination, as in human culture altruism and pragmatism were each loaded with significantly diverging emotional connotations. But, he reflected, it was simply logical to accept situations as they were, and move forward in a way that ensured optimal wellbeing for the many. Kaiidth.

 

* * *

 

 

Spock once more found himself waiting for Jim, this time at the labs. The first fifteen minutes, he always assumed, were the window in which Jim would most likely make his appearance. It was, therefore, only when Jim was a full half hour late, that he began to become concerned for his wellbeing. Casting aside the illogical fears, he strode through the corridors, arriving at Jim’s door and knocking, nearly stumbling as he found the door unlocked as it gave way to his superior strength. The door swung open, and Spock immediately wished it had not.

 

Jim was sat on the floor, his back to McCoy’s immaculate bed, clutching a PADD that was not his own. Tears were streaming down his face, and he looked exhausted. He was wearing navy boxers, his oversized Academy hoodie, and nothing else. Spock backed away, wishing that he had not intruded upon what was clearly a private incident, but Jim looked up at him, and his expression was so utterly broken that Spock could not find it within himself to leave. He closed the door behind him, and moved to kneel beside Jim, who was now staring again at the PADD, his hands clutching at the device so tightly they were almost pure white in places. Spock gently tugged the PADD from Jim’s hands.  
  
“Jim, what happened?” he asked, and Jim shook his head, gesturing numbly to the PADD.  
  
It was, he realised, Doctor McCoy’s PADD. A jolt of pure dread rushed through him as he looked at the message that he had left open. Notice that he had lost custody of Joanna, and even comms privileges. Accompanied by a viciously gloating set of words signed off by Jocelyn. Spock knew that divorces could be bitter. What he had not known, what he never desired to understand, was the simple sadism of using a child to hurt a spouse. He suddenly knew, in a leap of logic that was perhaps aided by the proximity to Jim’s palpable distress, that Jocelyn was just as bad a mother as she was a divorcee.   
  
“She’ll hurt Joanna, she won’t love her.” Jim whispered, his gaze fixed on a point a thousand miles away, haunted and tired and everything that Jim never let himself seem. “God, Spock, it’s killing me. Joanna’s going to lose her only loving parent, and Bones is missing, he’s just gone, left his PADD here so I can’t track him, and I-“ he broke off, as he bit back a sob, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I’m sorry, Spock, I didn’t mean for you to see this. It’s pretty pathetic.”  
  
“You need not apologise for experiencing an entirely reasonable emotional response.” Spock said gently, wondering at the slight flinch his words produced. He knew that Jim hid a great deal behind his façade of bright bluster; he couldn’t not, as a touch telepath who Jim didn’t seem to mind being tactile with. But the knowledge of his hidden hurt was quite different to physically seeing it’s impact, and the knowledge that something, someone, had hurt Jim so greatly pained him. If he let himself feel the emotional response lurking in his mind, he had little doubt that he would be able to do much other than sit and feel sorrow at the cruelty of which sentient beings were capable. His pain at Jim’s hurt was only eclipsed by his concern and burning empathy for McCoy, and Joanna, though he had not yet met the child. He carefully entrapped his emotions, pushing them down for later processing as any Vulcan might, and levelled his most determined gaze at Jim.  
  
“You are right to feel sorrow.” He said, and Jim finally looked at him, confusion and attention snapping back to the current situation. “However, we may still be able to find McCoy. You know of his predilections when he is experiencing emotional disturbance, yes?” Spock stood, gripping Jim’s upper arm and lifting him upright with ease, leaving him to locate a pair of jeans lying on the floor of the untidy room and shove them into Jim’s hand.  
  
“Yes.” Jim said, roughly, dragging on the jeans with a growing sense of urgency. “He likes to drink. You think he’ll be at a bar?” Jim grabbed some socks, and pulled on his regulation boots – a breach of protocol that Spock felt was necessary to let slide given the circumstances.  
  
“I fail to see where else he might have gone, if he did not seek comfort in your presence.” Spock answered, following Jim as he made for the door. He quietly picked up Jim’s keys form his desk, and shut the door, striding swiftly to catch up with him once more. “You suspect a particular bar, do you not?”  
  
“Finnegan’s.” Jim replied. His entire posture was almost unrecognisable from his state less than a minute ago. He had gone from despairing to determined in an instant, and Spock could not help but admire such ability to rebound from pain. It was almost Vulcan in the level of emotional control it must have taken.

 

Jim did not speak, and neither did Spock.

 

* * *

 

 

The bar was large, and Jim and Spock wordlessly elected to split up to better search the area. Spock scanned the right side of the bar, in an efficient sweep. He was halfway through his search when he heard Jim’s voice shout his name. He did not run, but his pace was swift enough to cause several patrons to glare at him as he shoved past them. He found Jim crouched next to McCoy’s prone form. There was a frankly horrifying collection of classes on the table above him, and a few on the floor too.  
  
“Bones, dammit, wake up!” Jim slapped his cheek, to no avail.

 

Spock crouched next to Jim, moving his hands aside and checking for a pulse.   
  
“He’s still alive. It is essential that we obtain medical attention.”  
  
“How the fuck did the barman justify letting him have this much, he should have been cut off before this!” Jim was almost unrecognisable in his fury.  
  
“Jim, we must call for aid!”  
  
“No, we can’t, if we did this would go on his record and he’ll have no chance of getting Jo back!” Jim brought his attention to the situation at hand, his hyper-focus snapping into place immediately. “You have taken basic aid courses, right?”  
  
“I have, but I do not think it is wise to-“  
  
“Then we’ll take him back to our room and treat him there, he has a fully stocked first aid kit. I can help you carry him, and there is no way in hell that the barman will testify that Bones got so damn drunk in his bar without cutting him off.” Jim’s analysis was swift and, for a certain set of priorities, eminently logical. Spock nodded, once.

“Your assistance in carrying him will only hinder the process.” Spock pushed Jim aside and gathered up McCoy, carrying him as if he were a child, as if he weighed nothing.  
  
“I’ll get doors.”

 

Jim opened each door for them, ignoring the bemused glances thrown their way. They must have made a peculiar sight; a tall Vulcan carrying a pale human, with another dishevelled and tear-streaked human clearing their path. When they were confronted with the closed door, Jim looked like he was ready to break down the door.  
  
“In my pocket. Get the medical bag and give me the tricorder. And draw me 50ccs of hydrating fluid.” Spock felt Jim reach in and grab the keys, opening the door hastily for him.

Spock carried the Doctor to his bed, sweeping the untouched pillows and toys, and his lyre, to the floor to make room for his body. None of it mattered anymore, in any case. Not the lyre, not the fact that McCoy clearly slept with Jim if he had missed such an obvious and cumbersome object in his bed. All that mattered was fixing McCoy.

 

He looked up, to find that Jim had already closed the door, dragged out the medical bag and loaded up a syringe, the tricorder ready in his other hand. Spock took it and scanned him, placing the results on the bedside table next to Joanna’s picture so he could check back on them. He pulled on the medical gloves, and took the syringe as it was handed over, injecting it deftly into McCoy’s arm as he spoke.  
  
“I’ll need an anti-absorption hypo, and then get me a tube-syringe and a bucket.”  
  
Spock felt the syringe he had just used pulled out of his palm and the hypo pressed into place, and Jim moved away for a moment, searching for the other equipment. Spock pressed the hypo in and ripped the neck of McCoy’s shirt, tilting his head back ready, before turning to check on Jim’s own status.

He should not have been concerned. When Jim was on the periphery of a crisis, he was bereft. When he was in the centre, he took the crisis and moulded it to his own, the calm at the eye of the storm, guiding it on a path of minimum destruction until it dissipated. He had located a bucket and held it ready, a tube syringe prepared and waiting for his use.

Spock took the tube, and carefully guided it in and down McCoy’s throat, using all his strength to support him in a position that would minimise damage to his oesophagus. Emptying his stomach without a stomach pump was messy. The room began to stink, and Spock barely noticed as Jim opened a window, took medical masks and placed one on Spock and one on himself. When the procedure was over, he left the medical bag within Spock’s reach and began to dispose of the evidence.  
  
Spock stripped off the gloves he had used for the procedure, replacing them and making up a hypo that would contain all the electrolytes that would have been lost. He stabbed the hypo in, and finally stood back. He picked up the tricorder and scanned him again, his posture visibly relaxing at the results. McCoy was as stable as he was going to get, and he was no longer in any danger from the alcohol.  
  
He stripped off his gloves once more, and gathered the waste material, moving to the bathroom where he could dispose of it. He found Jim there, sitting on the floor, anti-bacterial cleansing solution capped and the bucket clean and back under the sink where it belonged. Spock pushed the remaining waste down the disposal chute, and moved back out of the bathroom, aware of Jim’s eyes on him.  
  
“Is he going to be okay?” Jim asked. His voice was vulnerable, almost childish, as he stood and approached Spock, standing next to him and watching McCoy’s prone figure.  
  
“He will require several hours of sleep. But yes, he will be fine.”  
  
“Fuck.” Jim’s voice cracked, and he gripped Spock by the shoulders, staring up at him with such open expression that Spock thought his heart might break in his side. “I have no idea how I can possibly thank you for this. I can’t-“  
  
“Thanks are unnecessary. To do anything other than help would have been unthinkable.”  
  
“Lots of people would have found doing nothing very thinkable, Spock.” Jim released his grip, but not his earnest gaze.  
  
“That is immaterial.” Spock responded, abruptly unsure of himself, of his presence when Jim surely needed to take care of McCoy. “If you feel the need to express gratitude, simply ensure that you are present to take care of your Bones.” He almost smiled around the nickname, despite the way that his selfish heart was spiking him with pain. “He is going to need you, now more than ever. I cannot claim to be practised at comprehending human emotionalism. But I am certain of that.”  
  
Spock turned away, exiting the room and planning to meditate extensively to assimilate the overwhelming experience that had just occurred – but perhaps, only after seeking some advice. He could feel Jim’s eyes on his back as he left.

 

* * *

 

Nyota looked up from her current translation project, the evenly spaced knock letting her know that the person on the other side of the door was Spock.  
  
“Come in!” She called, setting down her PADD. She stretched, rolling her shoulders, but stopped as soon as she saw his appearance.  
  
Spock had not bothered to get changed, and so he was somewhat dishevelled. His jacket was half-open, one sleeve still rolled up from when he had been using the tube syringe, and he felt like he reeked of antiseptic and alcohol and sickness. His hair was rebelling against its usual neat form, disturbed perhaps by the exertion of carrying McCoy, and while he was not precisely emoting, his forehead was frowning and his eyes were carrying all of his tangled thoughts.

“I believe that I require assistance.”

“What happened?!” Nyota stood, and took him by the rolled-down sleeve, guiding him to sit on the bed. He obeyed, and she turned her chair to face him. He looked away at the question.  
  
“I was scheduled to meet Jim at 1400. When he was later than usual, I decided to attempt to locate him. He was in his room, and he was…” Spock trailed off, unsure of how to describe it. “Doctor McCoy has lost custody of his daughter, and his ex-wife sent a distinctly cruel message in order to tell him. We found McCoy, suffering from alcohol poisoning, however he has now stabilised. This must not go beyond the two of us, Nyota. Jim is certain that it would cost McCoy any chance he has of regaining at least comms rights for Joanna.” He paused for a moment. “I left Jim with him. They will need each other.”

Nyota was highly intelligent, and knew Spock well enough to read between the lines, hear the undertone of absolute pain. She knew that Spock was primarily focussed on the wellbeing of McCoy and Jim, but his own sadness that Jim and McCoy were indeed together was obvious, despite the certainty and determination in his words concerning the two needing each other. The worst part was that Nyota could see it, herself. Jim and McCoy were incredibly close, and such an event contained every possibility of sparking something more between the friends. No, she amended in her head. The worst part was that McCoy might never get to see his daughter again. Spock had, already, thoroughly and meticulously prioritised. The realisation made her think that, in another life, she might have truly fallen for him.  
  
“Oh, Spock.” Nyota reached out and touched his arm, her fingers in close enough proximity to skin that he could get an impression of her swirling concern and affection. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“I do not require platitudes, Nyota.” Spock said, though the statement was without judgement or reproach. “I simply require advice. I believe it would be considered invasive to contact my father and obtain intervention on behalf of Doctor McCoy. However, I find myself unwilling to do nothing.”  
  
“Your assistance would be appreciated, Spock, I guarantee it.” She said, immediately. “But if you like, I could find a way to make you anonymous. Gaila knows someone, everywhere.”  
  
“Yes.” Spock let his two fingers tap on Nyota’s clothed arm, in an expression of his grateful relief. “Thank you.”  
  
“It’s what friends are for.” Nyota smiled at him and withdrew. “Now, go get washed up and then we’ll fix this.”  
  
Spock retreated to his room, hearing Nyota calling Gaila before he had reached the door.

 

* * *

 

Spock was meditating when he heard a knock on his door. The knock was firm, but not as quick as Nyota’s, or as erratic as Jim’s. He rose, and moved to open the door, to find Leonard McCoy standing in front of him. Spock was grateful that he had been meditating. It allowed him to keep his controls as he moved aside to let the man who his love loved into the room. McCoy cautiously pushed the door shut, and held up Spock’s lyre.  
  
“I think this might be yours.” McCoy held it out, and Spock noticed that his hand was shaking slightly.  
  
“I appreciate you locating my lyre and returning it to me, Doctor McCoy.” Spock took the lyre and placed it on his bed, folding his arms behind his back. McCoy’s arm stayed outstretched for a moment before it fell limply to his side.  
  
“It’s no problem.” McCoy paused, looking around the room and taking in the Spartan décor.

 He looked everywhere except at Spock, and Spock braced himself for a long, awkward silence.

“I know it was you.” McCoy blurted out the words, seemingly unable to take the tension, and finally looked at Spock. “You saved my life. And then you got me back my visiting and comms rights with Joanna.”  
  
“I simply rendered you first aid. I did nothing more.” Spock could feel himself struggle with the lie.”  
  
“Fuck off,” McCoy said, making Spock raise an eyebrow, startled at the expletive. “I’m not an idiot. It was the Vulcan Ambassador who gave the judge the list of precendents. It’s goddamn obvious it was you!”  
  
“I…” Spock was unable to formulate a sufficient response in time to prevent the certainty coming to life in McCoy’s eyes. Spock released the tension in his posture, knowing that he could not conceal it any longer. “I could not let an injustice occur while I could intervene. I apologise for intruding. I am aware that it is not precisely appropriate for me to go to such lengths.”  
  
“What the - Spock, I sure as hell ain’t angry! I’m bloody grateful! I’ll be the last person to admit it in front of anyone else, but I owe you one hell of a debt. You saved my life and gave me back my darlin’ Jo, you stubborn, emotionally confused idiot!” McCoy took a deep breath, visibly holding himself back from leaping at Spock – though whether to hug him or propagate violence, Spock was uncertain.  
  
“I did not realise that it was human custom to give thanks quite so forcefully.” He commented, so used to directing comments solely to make Jim smile that it had become an ingrained and illogical habit. “However, if you wish to repay this perceived debt, all I require is that you never again do such a thing to Jim. Look after him. He was, to use a human term, utterly devastated.”  
  
McCoy blinked at Spock for a moment, an understanding dawning on his features. “Aw, hell. You really do think me and Jim are together, don’t ya.”

“I fail to see what-“ Spock paused. “You are not together?”  
  
“No, you self-sacrificing idiot! He’s like a younger brother to me, is that clear?” McCoy glared at him. “Not that he’d notice even if I liked him that way. He’s head over heels for you – don’t tell him I said that, though, or he might undo all your good work and kill me on the spot!”

Spock managed, amongst the disorientation of his controls at the revelation, to raise an eyebrow.  
  
“I see.”

“What made you so damn sure we were together, anyway? You’ve gotta know how handsy Jim is with everyone, and he’s not exactly focussed on me more than you or anyone else.”  
  
“You do not sleep in your bed.” Spock responded, a blush of green appearing at the tips of his ears.  
  
“How do you know that?” McCoy asked, before looking at the lyre again. “Oh.” He brushed a hand through his hair, amusement plain on his face. “I sleep on the floor, for my back. You know, for someone capable of improvising complex first aid and formulating thermodynamic equations with Jim, your ability to form actual good plans really goddamn sucks.”  
  
“So it would seem.” Spock replied, finding it almost easy to slip into a mildly antagonistic dynamic with McCoy, now that he knew Jim was not in love with the Doctor.  
  
“I’ll not be there when you and Jim meet up for your project tomorrow. Maybe, now that you know where you stand, you two will stop fooling around and realise you’re sickeningly meant for each other.” McCoy ignored Spock’s protest, and moved to the door, letting himself out. “Now, thanks to you, I gotta get to a comms station to talk to my Jo.”  


* * *

 

Spock approached Jim’s door, PADD in hand and almost overwhelmed by the struggle to press down his emotions. He had forced himself into being only three minutes early, and he suspected he would need all of that time to summon the courage to face Jim.

 

Except, the door to Jim’s room was already open, and Jim was leaning on the frame, his characteristic sunny smile somehow broadening even more to greet him. Spock felt all of his prized control scatter, torn to shreds by the warmth in Jim’s eyes and the welcoming hand he placed on Spock’s shoulder, guiding him into the room.

 

Spock barely heard the door close behind them. The entire room was strewn with fairy lights that glowed warm in the darkness Jim had sealed by closing the blackout curtains. The beds had been pushed aside, and the mattresses laid down on the floor, using the beds and chairs and spare blankets to make a makeshift tent. A bowl of fruit containing apples and another containing berries were on one of the chairs, which seemed to be prepared to act as a table. The room looked like it was floating in space, suspended amongst small stars, with the strange tent the only hard reference point. Spock turned to Jim, somewhat bewildered, and saw the soft lights glittering in his eyes, saw a nervous smile on his face.  
  
“Jim, what is this?”   
  
“Well, I, uh…I made you a blanket fort?” Jim’s hand reached up to tug at the hair at the back of his head, a nervous, grounding habit. He looked away for a moment, embarrassed, the pink flush on his cheeks showing up easily under the many small lights in the room. “I wanted to do something, to say to you.” Jim met Spock’s gaze again, but his words dropped away with the eye contact.  
  
“Thank you, Jim. I have never been given a blanket fort before.” Spock was unsure how he was expected to respond, feeling like he was floating in the unknown both figuratively and literally.

“It’s me who should be thanking you, twice over.” Jim paused, looking like he was frustrated, that he hadn’t managed to say what he wanted to, or not said it correctly.  
  
“I wish to reiterate that I did not intend to pry or overstep into McCoy’s life, and I also was simply doing what was morally required of me when I helped you.” Spock found himself oddly fixated on this, on trying to establish that he had no expectations, no need to be thanked.  
  
“I know, Spock. This isn’t a thank you. It’s…selfish, really.” Jim leaned against the wall, not quite looking at Spock, more unsure than Spock had ever seen him.  
  
“If it is not thanks, then you have given me a gift, which by nature is not selfish.” Spock said, tilting his head at Jim, curious and daring to hope that the confusion of Jim’s words and intent were him expressing the attraction that McCoy had informed him was present.  
  
Jim pushed himself off the wall and snatched Spock’s PADD from his hands in one smooth movement, tossing it gently onto the edge of one of the mattresses.  
  
“I’ve never been good with words, dammit.” Jim placed his hands on Spock’s forearms, turning and guiding Spock backwards until his heels pressed against the start of the mattress. Spock realised he was holding his breath, and released it in a soft sigh. He breathed in, the scent of citrus and Jim, and let himself float in the space, in the air that, he now realised, was warm enough for him. Jim must have hacked the temperature controls in the room, to bring it to a warmth he knew Spock would be comfortable with. Spock smiled at the thought. He was pulled back to reality by one of Jim’s hands, sliding slowly up his arm, tracing his bicep and then trailing down his side, coming to rest at his wait, over his heart.  
  
“You’re smiling.” Jim sounded equal parts surprised and giddy, a sentiment that Spock was willing to admit to sharing.  
  
“Yes.” He said, the world around him a scatter of glowing stars and darkness and air that felt perfectly comfortable to his skin and wrapping around him, cradling him. The only real sensation beyond the illumination of the lights was Jim. The warm points of contact between them, the emotions just brushing Spock’s mind from the not yet direct contact with Jim’s hands, the light patterning his hair and shining in his eyes. Jim was looking at him as if he might never see him again, something about him desperate, coiled, restrained.  
  
“Fuck it!” Jim exclaimed, and the hand not over Spock’s heart moved to grab Spock’s hair as he dragged him in for a kiss.  
  
Spock felt the jolt of pleasure, and the instant their skin connected, his mind flooded with a banked desire and nervousness and excitement that was not his own. He pressed forwards, into Jim, finding that now they had touched, he could not stand the lack of it. One had slid up to Jim’s face, instinctively, cupping his cheek as the other wrapped around Jim’s back. He could feel Jim leaning into the touch, just as he had wanted to do so often himself. When he drew back form the kiss, his pupils were blown wide, his emotions simmering at the surface, coaxed out by the rich cocktail that Jim’s provided.  
  
“Jim…” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together, and they stood still, breathing together, experiencing the moment. Spock actively tried to absorb every detail, preserve it like a flower in the pages of an old book.  
  
“Why did this take so long? Why didn’t I have the courage to do this sooner?” Jim whispered, reaching up and taking Spock’s hand, making his breath stutter.  
  
“We are here now, Jim.” Spock’s voice was breathless, compromised and emotional, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
“We are.” Jim smiled then, that bright smile that could outshine a thousand suns and made Spock’s illogical heart twist painfully in his side. Jim looked at their interlaced fingers, his mischievous expression leaving no doubt in Spock’s mind that he knew exactly what the gesture meant to Vulcans. He gave Spock a slight shove, toppling him onto the mattress and following suit, laughing a little at the startled expression on Spock’s face.   
  
Spock wanted nothing more than to kiss that smile, to lose himself in everything that was Jim. And, he realised, as Jim leaned in to kiss him again, it seemed that, after all, Jim wanted much the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So, I saw a tumblr post that gave me an idea, and I had to write it out! It...honestly spiralled into something a lot longer than I expected, so oops! 
> 
> I hope this turned out ok, or at least vaguely enjoyable :)
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading, and if you would like to, feed me with comments or kudos!! <3 Y'all!!


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